


Meant For the Cold

by My_Beating_Hart



Series: A Mahariel's Endings [17]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Gen Work, Huddling For Warmth, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-22 06:30:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6068779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Beating_Hart/pseuds/My_Beating_Hart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is still cheesy.<br/>Concrit would be greatly appreciated!</p></blockquote>





	Meant For the Cold

The snow crunched underfoot and whirled around the slight forms of the two elves. The snowflakes were heavy and wet, clinging to their hunched forms or adding to the white expanse that glittered in the dying streaks of evening light that still gave the sky some colour. Normally, Theron would have found the sight beautiful, but night was drawing in and the temperature was dropping sharply. Despite how they were both huddled up in thick fur cloaks, the cold wind still nipped at their exposed skin, and it was sharp enough to make them both sneeze more than once if it happened to blow the wrong way.

“We’ll make camp soon.” Theron promised as he looked over one shoulder to check on Zevran walking in his footprints to save valuable energy, the words a trail of steam that was blown away as soon as he spoke. The former Crow nodded once in agreement, eyes glinting alertly out from where he was buried up to his nose in a thick woollen scarf and the shadows of his hood.

Reassured, Theron looked forwards and ducked his head against the cold, fingers clenched hard around the inside hem of his heavy cloak to keep them out of the biting wind. They forged onwards through the snow and cold as the sky darkened to the point where humans would have needed a torch to keep going, but elves merely adapted and saw the blue-silver shadows of the night.

Some indefinable amount of time later, they came to a small stand of trees with ice glistening on their bare branches. There weren’t enough trees clustered together to provide decent shelter from the wind and snow, but it would have to do for the two travellers. With little more than a searching glance at Zevran for his approval of the campsite, the two of them set to work on silently setting up the camp - not that they needed more than a tent and a campfire.

By the time Zevran finished piling the furs and bedroll into the tent, Theron had managed to start a decent fire with what dry wood he could find in the snow drifts or had stashed in their packs. The blond immediately sat down close enough to the fire to draw a raised eyebrow.

“Are you planning on burning your fingers off?” Theron queried, still huddled in the depths of his cloak as he sat beside the other. Zevran shrugged noncommittally, his hands outstretched towards the warmth - practically _in_ the fire - and his gaze fixed on the dancing flames as they grew. He was shivering despite all his layers.

The Dalish elf sighed, but edged over until he was seated behind Zevran, legs stretched out and parted. He leant forwards and gently tugged at the Antivan’s shoulder. With a muttered “Come here, _lath_ ,” Zevran slowly sat back until his back was pressed against Theron’s chest and his head resting against Theron’s shoulder, fitting neatly and familiarly into the offered gaps.

“How I miss Antiva.” The blond sighed as he pulled the ends of Theron’s cloak close and wriggled even closer, the first time he’d spoken in a while. Theron nodded in agreement and caught both of Zevran’s hands in his. Creators, his fingers were freezing, as cold as ice.

“You’re really not meant for the cold.” Theron murmured, resting his chin on the blond’s shoulder and curling around him to offer as much warmth as possible. Zevran was used to Antiva’s heat, and had complained about Ferelden’s cold even during the height of summer when there were a few sunny weeks in a row. Theron was Ferelden and Dalish, hardy two times over and able to at least grit his teeth and put up with the cold for longer.

Then again, neither of them truly were meant for the cold. Winters were tough on all races, but most elves had slight, lean frames. They didn’t have the sheer bulk of the other races to generate the body heat necessary to tolerate the cold better. The lack of height made things worse. In Theron’s experience, winters were best spent huddled together with clanmates in the close warmth of aravels or large communal bonfires. Not spent practically alone out in the wilderness away from any kind of civilisation.

Zevran hummed in agreement as his teeth finally stopped chattering and he began to relax. Theron closed his eyes, feeling the solid warmth of Zevran through all of their combined layers and the warmth of the fire against the soles of his boots as he began to rub Zevran’s fingers gently, tracing the calluses from years of dagger-wielding until his hands stopped trembling.

The situation certainly wasn’t perfect - he could feel Zevran wince and then press closer every time the wind blew over them and made the fire gutter - but it was enough for the night. If they rose early and the snow didn’t hinder them again, they would probably reach the next village tomorrow. And then they would rent a room from an inn for a night or two, have a hot meal before they retired, ensure the fire was crackling away merrily, and set about truly warming each other up after another long day of a long week on the road.

Soon enough, Zevran shifted in Theron’s embrace.

“Perhaps we have gathered enough energy to go into the tent for the night, no?” He suggested, a far cry from his usual charm or playful seduction. He was definitely exhausted from the cold day’s travel, then.

“Of course.” Theron answered, the snow crunching again as they helped each other up. Zevran ducked into the tent without a backwards glance to the night sky or snow drifts beyond the yellow-orange circle of firelight, the canvas rustling faintly. Theron stayed out long enough to bank the fire as best he could and then step outside the light so he was no longer nightblind to check for any wandering forms in the dark that might have seen their fire. Finding none, he gladly joined the blond in the tent.

He wasn’t surprised to find Zevran already buried up to his chin under the pile of furs and most of his clothing and weaponry in a vaguely organised pile in a far corner of the tent. Theron smirked at the Antivan, but lost no time in pulling off his cloak, weaponry, armour, until he was standing in the plainclothes worn underneath. They would do as sleeping clothes for one night - there was no way he would take more layers off to put new, cold ones on. After a moment’s thought, he picked his thick cloak up and draped it over the furs before he burrowed under to curl up next to Zevran.

“How are you feeling?” He asked when the blond latched onto him again. A little unusually, Zevran was also sleeping clothed tonight, no doubt for the same reason of staying as warm as possible.

“Warmer.”  The Antivan murmured, resting his head in the crook of Theron’s neck as he pressed their bodies together firmly. Hips, chests, legs, fee-

“ _Fenedhis!_ ” Theron yelped, flinching away from a set of particularly cold toes against his ankles. So Zevran’s socks must have been soaked through if he was forgoing them. “Liar.” He grumbled in response to Zevran’s low chuckle, a heated flush passing across his cheeks. The blond noticed, and then it was Theron’s turn to relax as Zevran pressed a chaste, gentle kiss to one warm cheek.

“ _Much_ warmer.” The blond purred, nuzzling at his shoulder again. Even his nose was cold.

“You’re not very talkative when you’re cold,” Theron commented, shifting where he lay so their foreheads were pressed together.

“Unless I’m complaining about it.” Zevran pointed out as their noses bumped together, lowering his voice to something just above a whisper now they were so close together. His arms snaked around the other elf’s ribs to keep their bodies close as the night’s chill was finally chased away.

Theron shook his head slightly, winced, and then lifted his head up from the pillow to gather his braids up in one hand and get them out of danger of being caught again.

“When you’re _really_ cold, I mean,” He clarified, his own voice soft and gently teasing. “The point after your complaints about the cold and how much further. It’s odd, not hearing you give me a running commentary of your woes.”

Now they were both safe and warm for the night in a cocoon of several heavy furs, they could finally relax. _He_ could finally relax. They weren’t going to freeze to death today, and Zevran wasn’t going to lose his valuable extremities to frostbite.

Zevran smiled warmly at him. In the gentle intimacy of their situation, such an affectionate gesture made Theron’s chest tighten. He couldn’t help a smile in return.

“I am simply gathering my energy for another day’s worth of complaints tomorrow.”

The other elf sighed at that but draped his arm over Zevran’s side. The wind outside whined and plucked at the firmly tied down tent flaps, but very little of the night chill made it inside, and none of it disturbed the warm weight of the furs and their shared body heat.

“Tomorrow.” Theron echoed, letting his eyes finally slide closed. It had been a long day, trudging through the cold and weathering the snow. Only now they were resting did he realise just how tired he was.

They were silent for a long time, Theron more than happy to drift slowly in and out of a doze as Zevran remained curled solidly against him, their bodies intertwined. He could feel the rise and fall of Zevran’s chest against his with every steady breath; all he could smell was Zevran and the furs.

“I’m surprised you haven’t tried to seduce me yet.” He murmured, opening one grey eye to peer at the blond curiously. “This is the perfect opportunity, you know.”

Zevran blinked, and shrugged weakly.

“I am aware of that, but for once I am content with this,” He answered, but there was a faint gleam of interest in his golden eyes. “But, if you are offering…?”

Theron shook his head and pressed his arm tighter against Zevran’s back.

“No, I’m fine. And if we make good progress tomorrow, according to the map we should reach a village. An inn. How would you feel about a few nights spent in some warm bedroom with walls and windows…?”

Zevran perked up at that.

“We will have to celebrate such an occasion.” He grinned, no doubt already planning what they would get up this time tomorrow. Theron nodded and closed his eyes again.

“But for now, sleep,” He suggested, nuzzling blindly at the pillow and then Zevran. “Here’s hoping I don’t have nightmares.” He felt a warm hand reach up to rest on the back of his head, comforting.

“Or that we get snowed in while we sleep. Good night, _amor_.”

“Night, _lath_.”

They fell asleep like that, tightly entwined and facing each other, and undisputedly warm.

**Author's Note:**

> This is still cheesy.  
> Concrit would be greatly appreciated!


End file.
